


when the sun sets

by Saengak



Series: GilHanne collection [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, D:BH AU, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24716335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saengak/pseuds/Saengak
Summary: When a rogue droid kills Hanneman, Gilbert’s life collapses around him in an instant. However, his partner isn’t so ready to leave him alone…
Relationships: Hanneman von Essar/Gilbert Pronislav
Series: GilHanne collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787005
Kudos: 1





	when the sun sets

**Author's Note:**

> Because a friend gave me an irresistibly tasty AU idea… >.>

_“These are not normal droids,” Hanneman chatters excitedly as he keeps to Gilbert’s long stride, barely able to keep his voice hushed. “They aren’t even just simple deviant droids either. Someone has created a series of new, completely superior military droids that Cyberlife can’t even—”_

_“Shh.”_

_Hanneman’s mouth snaps shut when Gilbert drags him into an alley, tucking the taller man between himself and the wall as he peers down the street. It’s snowing, the ground slippery with the beginnings of ice, and the moonlight casts everything in monochrome. His hand finds the holster of his gun. Something isn’t right._

_“Gilbert?” his fellow detective whispers, breath blooming hot over his face._

_“Get your gun, someone’s—”_

_He slips and crashes onto the ground when Hanneman shoves him hard, just a heartbeat before a gunshot rings out and red splatters across the wall._

_“HANNEMAN!?”_

* * *

“Are you listening, Gilbert?”

He blinks. “I don’t need it,” he croaks, throat straining from disuse. He sits slumped in his chair, elbows on his thighs, unable to meet his superior’s gaze. “I can continue investigating on my own.”

Rhea’s delicate frown deepens as she interlaces her fingers. “And let you kill yourself because you’re too deep in your thoughts to be aware of your surroundings? No. If you want to continue with this case, then you need a droid partner as backup.”

“Then give me any other droid. Not… _this._ ”

“Hanneman’s knowledge is vital to the investigation and you two have worked together for a long time. We don’t have the time to separate his knowledge from all the other information he had uploaded onto the servers, but we can give the droid a different face if it’ll make you more comfortable.”

Gilbert buries his head in his hands. Had Hanneman wanted this? A second lease on life as a droid? His partner had mentioned making posthumous arrangements before, but it had been such a morbid topic that Gilbert had not been able to bring himself to ask further.

Droids have a form of consciousness too, Gilbert knows. It would be cruel to deny the droid a face that matches its memories. He can’t deny _Hanneman_ that if there is even a speck of him inside that droid.

“No,” he says in the end. “I’ll deal with it.”

Rhea gives him a somewhat detached look of sympathy and stands. “Come. Let’s go meet it then.”

Numb to the core, Gilbert somehow makes his limbs move. He follows Rhea out of her office and through the DPD, ignoring the pitying glances that follow him. When they arrive before one of the windowless interview rooms, Rhea gives the door two sharp knocks before pushing it open. “Hanneman?”

The sight of him sitting there, long legs folded awkwardly under his chair and his eyes bright and smiling, punches Gilbert’s breath from his lungs. “Hello Rhea,” it says, enunciating perfectly. “Hello Gilbert.”

He should have expected it, but it’s still a shock to see Hanneman replicated down to every minute detail—the long lashes, the blue of his eyes, the neatly trimmed moustache. If not for the blue circle pulsing gently at his temple, Gilbert would have been tempted to think that all that had happened had just been a nightmare.

Feeling his stomach turn and turn again, Gilbert lurches towards the table and grabs the chair opposite the droid, sinking into the seat like a man a decade older. His knees would have given out not a second later.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Rhea says with a polite smile, which the droid imitates to eery effect. When the door closes behind her and the click of her heels slowly fades, Gilbert still hasn’t been able to work enough moisture into his mouth to speak.

The droid frowns as it looks Gilbert up and down. “Your physical appearance does not match my memories of you. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

Gilbert lets out a bark of humourless laughter. The combination of this factory-fresh droid’s social ineptness and its attempt at concern is simply awful. When the droid cocks its head and fixes him with a plastic look of polite curiousity, Gilbert can take it no more.

“What is your most recent memory?”

The droid rattles out a date and a time, precise to the second, and Gilbert scrubs a hand over his face. His eyes feel gritty and dry, his chin itchy with the beginnings of a beard, and his chest aches dully. He still has yellowed bruises on his knees where he’d caught himself on the hard ground, after Hanneman had shoved him out of the way of the bullet.

“Do not worry, I have loaded the subsequent mission briefs into my memory. I am probably more up to date than you are. We will be investigating the female droid we unfortunately met, the one with the salmon pink hair.”

 _A gunshot. Hanneman’s eyes are glazed, shocked. His knees buckle, the back of his head painting a swathe of crimson down the wall and Gilbert_ screams _so hard that he tastes blood. He raises his gun and looks up just in time to see a woman leaping above them from one building to the next, her long hair fluttering behind her._

_The gun discharges, once, twice, thrice, his hand shaking, his heart too fast and his eyes blurry, but she disappears as if she’d never been there._

_Hanneman hits the ground dead, a bullet hole between his eyes._

“…right,” Gilbert whispers. “Excuse me.”

The droid’s wide eyes follow him as he stumbles out of the room. He staggers down the hallway, slams open the bathroom door and throws himself into one of the cubicles just in time to clutch at a toilet bowl. Nothing but saliva and bile comes up as he dry heaves, making dreadful sounds.

Of course. He hadn’t eaten a meal for… how long?

Lightheaded and exhausted, Gilbert wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flushes the toilet.

He sits there for who knows how long before the bathroom door creaks open and some vague sense of propriety forces himself to get off the toilet floor.

“Gilbert!”

He turns, startled to hear Maneula’s voice. “This is the men’s bathroom.”

She scowls. “Who cares about that now. Hanneman—uh, the new Hanneman—came running to me saying you had an “adverse reaction”.” She studies him, her face creased with worry. “I can see why he thought that. Wash your hands and rinse your mouth.” Her shoulder bumps his as she nudges him towards the sink.

Gilbert does. He washes his face too, letting the cold water knock his mind back into the present.

“Let’s get some coffee and sandwiches,” Manuela says softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

They go to the break room and Gilbert gets a cup of instant coffee from the machine, burning his lips and tongue when he sips at it. Manuela sits with him in silent commiseration, her own gaze hazy and unfocused as she pushes over a plate of sandwiches wrapped in clingfilm. She’d been good friends with Hanneman, too. The break room is too quiet without their constant bickering.

He’s too queasy to eat so he sips again at his coffee. With any luck, the droid is reporting to Rhea right now, requesting to be assigned elsewhere.

He’s proved wrong when the droid appears not a moment later. Gilbert watches incredulously as the droid goes to the coffee machine and makes a coffee of his own. Then it stands there awkwardly, staring at their shoes. It looks pitiful, cradling a coffee that it can’t drink just to participate in their social ritual. “Oh come sit with us,” Manuela huffs even though she can’t quite look it in the eye.

The droid obeys.

“I’m sorry Gilbert,” the droid says, its face blank. “I must have said something distressing.”

“It’s not your fault,” Gilbert reassures the droid on instinct, and the droid’s face creases into a painfully familiar smile. He quickly averts his eyes.

If he can focus on the broad dissimilarities between the droid and his Hanneman, he can keep his head screwed on right. The droid simply doesn’t speak the same way. It is also dressed in a droid uniform, its model number printed across his jacket. It should be easy to tell them apart, right?

If he doesn’t look at its face, he’ll be alright.

* * *

“What are you doing here,” Gilbert asks flatly, pretending that he hadn’t needed a few minutes to compose himself after seeing droid-Hanneman in his apartment’s peephole.

The droid smiles at him, eyes closed in happy arches. “I’m here to make sure that you are ready for our mission tomorrow.” It holds up the bag of groceries. The thin plastic bag strains against the weight of what it’d bought; the sharp edge of a milk carton threatens to poke through. “Your weight has gone down. I would like to cook for you.”

“I didn’t know you were a nannybot.”

“I’m not.” The droid cocks its head slightly, Gilbert’s sarcasm lost on it.

Gilbert reluctantly opens the door wider and lets the droid in. Shame warms his face as it takes in the days-old food packages piled atop the stuffed trash bin, the unwashed clothes on the floor and the tangled blanket on the bed. His apartment is simply too small to hide anything from view. But the droid says nothing. It does not even frown in disapproval. Proceeding to the kitchen, it simply begins unpacking his groceries.

Gilbert watches helplessly from the kitchen’s doorway as it runs water on the crusted dishes in the sink, humming as it squeezes soap into a container and dilutes it with water. Soon, it is scrubbing away with a sponge. “I’ll make some soup and pasta, yes?”

“Anything is fine.”

It smiles down at the sink, nods, and continues scrubbing.

“I’ll clean the room,” Gilbert mutters awkwardly before escaping back into the living room. God it hurts. Seeing Hanneman standing there in the kitchen like that, in the space that they’d once shared…

Stifling the grief that threatens to burst out of his aching chest once more, Gilbert picks up the first thing he can get his hands on – a crumpled shirt – and begins grabbing every item of clothing he sees. It’s almost easier this way, letting his brain blank out.

He collects all his clothes, takes them to the closet-like utilities room that houses their small washing machine and stuffs them all in. Washing powder: one scoop. Start.

Gilbert exhales.

Hanneman wouldn’t want to see him like this. He would nag and nag and nag if he sees Gilbert living like this. _‘A pigsty!’_ he’d exclaim, huffing and puffing as he scrubs at some minute stain on their dining table. _‘Just look at the trash, all piled up!’_

Right. The trash.

As he wrinkles his nose and throws moulding, greasy paper boxes and half-crushed beer cans into a trash bag, the sounds of chopping and sizzling begin to come from the kitchen. The aromatic smell of bacon and cream is in the air by the time Gilbert hunts down the last of the trash, tying up the plastic bag tight and dropping it near the front door for later.

He’s exhausted, too tired to even strip the bedsheets from the bed next, much less vacuum the floor and take the trash down to the bin outside the apartment building. He doesn’t even want to wash their blanket, even though Hanneman’s scent is all but gone. Gilbert can still imagine it if he tries hard enough.

Sitting on the floor, he listens to the droid hum a wordless song and chokes on a muffled sob.

There is a bloody hole in his heart where Hanneman used to be and a twisted noose of grief and guilt strung around his throat, threatening to strangle all breath from him. His memories of his partner are all tainted; all he can think of is the bullet hole in Hanneman’s head and blood tracking down his face, pooling in his open eye. When he dreams, he dreams of the gun in his hand, shaking too hard to aim properly, too slow, too _useless_ —

“Hey, there you are.”

Gilbert flinches and reaches for the gun that isn’t at his hip, panicking for a blind moment before realising that it’s not a ghost haunting him.

The droid is in an apron— _Hanneman’s_ apron, the one with pink owls printed all over it. A washcloth dangles from its hand and its eyes are soft with concern. “Don’t take yourself out with the trash, please?”

When Gilbert doesn’t respond, the droid’s smile fades.

“I made soup?” the droid tries again. “Come eat.”

Slowly, Gilbert uncurls and nods jerkily. Deep breaths. Yes. He’s fine. “Okay.”

The droid makes a happy sound and heads to the living room, where there is a pot of vegetable soup set out in the middle of the dining table, together with a plate of pasta. It ladles out a steaming bowl and places it in front of Gilbert. “Eat!”

It smells delicious. Suddenly, Gilbert’s stomach is growling loudly.

“What about you?” he blurts out asking, only to regret it immediately. Droids don’t eat; everyone knows that. “Nevermind.”

“Thank you for asking, Gilbert,” the droid chirps, unbothered. “Do not worry about me. I will clean.” It then heads off to finish what Gilbert had started, leaving him alone with his dinner. Gilbert stares after it for a moment, feeling his chest squeeze faintly, but he turns away chiding himself.

It’s just a droid.

Flavour bursts in his mouth as he sips his first spoonful and then he’s taking another, and another. He eats quickly, driven by days of neglected hunger and the truly great culinary skill that the droid has been programmed with.

Hanneman would have laughed. He hadn’t been able to so much as boil water without setting something aflame, but now? His droid can whip up a proper meal within the hour. Gilbert cleans his plate thoughtfully and brings the soup bowl to his mouth, draining it.

With a warm meal in his stomach, he is feeling a lot better. Hanneman must have known... He was no stranger to grief, unfortunately. Imagining Hanneman in the director’s office insisting that they program a detective droid with recipes almost makes Gilbert’s lip twitch.

He piles the dishes together and turns, intending to thank the droid, only to catch it reaching towards Hanneman’s desk—

“STOP!”

The droid freezes and steps back from Hanneman’s desk, its eyes wide with alarm. “Gilbert?”

His heart pounds. Quickly setting down the plates before he loses grip on them, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t. _Touch_.”

It nods slowly, still looking like a deer caught in headlights. “I apologise. I just wanted to clean the coffee mug.”

Hanneman’s glazed blue mug sits on his desk, the coffee within it long dried into some kind of irreversible stain, but Gilbert hadn’t been able to bring himself to move it. _Hanneman_ had put it there and Hanneman is _gone._

“Sorry,” Gilbert says, exhaling. He’s being unfair, isn’t he? The droid had only wanted to help. “It’s just… Just not that.”

The droid nods, still not daring to move. “I won’t.”

The silence stretches uncomfortably.

“Thank you for the meal,” Gilbert tries awkwardly. He can’t bear that look on Hanneman’s face even if it isn’t really him. “It was delicious.”

“I’m glad,” the droid says, smiling now. It adjusts the bedsheets it has in its arms when a corner slips. “If you don’t mind, I can cook for you whenever you wish.”

“Surely you have other things to do?” he asks hesitantly, wrestling with the idea of having the droid around so often. It sounds like a terrible idea, but sitting alone in their apartment with cold, half-eaten takeout sounds even more bleak.

“Not at all. I may have to file paperwork between missions but I do them all very quickly.” A slender finger taps against its temple.

Right. Computer processor.

“Cooking meals is no trouble at all,” it assures, having already recovered from being shouted at. “Here, let me take those plates. You should shower.”

“…alright,” Gilbert murmurs, feeling guilty as the droid bustles off. “Thanks.”

* * *

Gilbert wakes up to the smell of food and spends a moment in bed, trying to recall what happened last night. After showering, he’d fallen into bed with the intention of resting his eyes but it seems that he’d slipped right off to a deep, dreamless sleep. Had the droid left and come back? Or had it stayed the night?

Rubbing the grit from his eyes, Gilbert hauls himself off to the bathroom.

The droid sets a fluffy omelette before him when he sits down at the dining table, a side of baked beans and ham on the plate as well. “You look good,” the droid says, beaming at him as it flaps its hand at Gilbert’s shaved face. “Much better than last night.”

“Thanks?” Gilbert replies, caught slightly wrongfooted at the compliment and even more guilty at having droid-Hanneman wait on him. “Sit down with me, please?”

The droid nods and pulls out a chair beside him. “Of course.”

It’s odd to think that the droid has preferences regarding his appearance, but perhaps it simply has a general inclination towards neatness. Hanneman hadn’t minded a bit of stubble but not shaving for a week is a bit much. His scruffy beard had been a tangle this morning.

“Tell me about the mission today,” Gilbert prompts before shovelling a spoonful of egg into his mouth, then some baked beans.

It’s stunningly normal to see Hanneman sitting there in his cheerful cartoon apron while spouting off the mission parameters, albeit with less enthusiasm and gesticulating. Hanneman had always had some pet project or the other to babble about, and early mornings were no barrier to his energy levels. It was what Gilbert loved about him. The passion in his eyes, the way his hands moved as he talked…

“Gilbert?”

He shakes himself and mentally shouts down his pitiful brain into focusing. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat?” He has already spent days after Hanneman’s funeral wallowing in his grief. Criminals wait for no-one. If Hanneman’s murderer manages to disappear before Gilbert gets on his feet once more, he would never forgive himself.

“We have a match on our database,” the droid repeats without any hint of annoyance, taking Gilbert’s phone and pulling up a picture with a few rapid taps.

Gilbert grits his teeth and makes himself look at the woman in the photo, who has neatly coiffed hair and seafoam green eyes. Her profile labels her as a domestic droid, but there’s a slant to her mouth and a glint in her eye that makes Gilbert’s hackles rise. Droids aren’t supposed to make expressions like that.

“It’s a droid that goes by the name Cornelia, but she disappeared a few years ago. She has been seen with other deviant droids. We are going to see her ex-employer, one Arundel Volkhard, today.”

“Arundel? Didn’t he run for office last term?” He vaguely remembers some ads on TV.

The droid nods with something akin to approval. “Yes. He holds highly pro-android views.” It helps Gilbert bring up Arundel’s profile, but a quick read proves it to be remarkably clean of any suspicious activities. Neither does the police report he’d filed upon Cornelia’s disappearance give them any clues. It’s clean—almost too clean.

Gilbert scowls.

“My analysis shows that he is a character worth investigating,” the droid states, “if only because he is related to that droid. Are the mission parameters acceptable?”

“More than acceptable.” Gilbert forces down the last of his ham quickly and drops the plates in the sink. His gun goes in his holster and his investigator’s badge in his pocket, the only two things he needs. The pair of rings hanging on the chain around his neck is a comforting pressure against his sternum as he straightens his shoulders.

 _‘Rest easy, my dear.’_ He’s going to get down to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing he does.

“Let’s go,” he commands the droid, finally some vigour colouring his voice. It gazes back at him with Hanneman’s determined eyes, smiling.

“Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no solid plans for continuing this. We shall see how it goes XD


End file.
